Wait
by maritera
Summary: "When it came to Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley was accustomed to waiting."  Missing moments between The Silver Doe and Shell Cottage.
1. In Limbo

A/N: How many times has this been written? Ah, I couldn't help myself! I've been listening to this obscure little electronic/ambient track called "In Love, Not Limbo" by Of Oceans—hence the chapter titles. (Listen here: .com/of-oceans-in-love-not-limbo/) Don't know when/why I made the connection between this song and Ron leaving, returning, and the ensuing tension with Hermione…I just feel like there's a similar emotion to this song…even though I find this track rather serene, as well. My brain tends to form juxtaposing views of things…always. Anyway, share your thoughts/opinions/love!

Chapter 1: In Limbo

Ron and Harry sat in amicable silence for the first time in far too long, although Harry could see Ron's eyes concentrated on Hermione's tense back. He wasn't sure how much longer they could pretend she was sleeping. Rising to his feet, Harry cast another drying spell on his clothes and pulled on an extra jumper.

"I think I'll be finishing up my watch," he said meaningfully, grabbing up a blanket and heading toward the opening.

Ron shot up, beating him to the tent flap.

"No, mate, let me. Please, it's the least I could do after…after running out like I did," said Ron, his last words coming out almost painfully.

Harry smiled warmly at him, though he had been certain his lips had almost forgotten how to perform the very action up until now.

"Don't. You saved my life tonight, Ron. You've just about done enough in my book," Harry assured him. In a softer voice, he added, "Might want to try finding your way back into someone else's good books."

Harry tilted his head in the direction of Hermione's bunk. Ron shook his head dejectedly.

"Right…that'll be an effin' cakewalk…" he retorted mordantly.

Harry replied with two sympathetic pats on Ron's back before striding outside.

Ron didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He shuffled around at the mouth of the tent, tugging at his short pyjama sleeves. Knowing that she was still awake but stubbornly refusing to acknowledge his presence (or his existence, more like it) made Ron shudder at the mere idea of going anywhere near the bunk above her, where he normally slept.

He decided instead to occupy himself in their tiny kitchen by making tea the Muggle way, hoping it would soothe his nerves. He went about putting the kettle on. He noticed that it wasn't in its _usual_ spot. For some reason, this minute detail reminded Ron that only an idiot would assume that everything would be the same upon his sudden reappearance.

'_I AM an idiot,' he thought gloomily to himself. _

Ron was quick to catch the steaming kettle before it whistled, lest he hack Hermione off even worse. He didn't bother to use exorbitant amounts of sugar as he commonly did, much to the annoyance of the very same brunette witch. Perhaps it could be another outward act of contrition, he mused. He would do _anything_ to show her just how desperately sorry he was, no matter how feeble.

Ron returned to the bunks to discover Hermione flopping onto her back dramatically, the back of her hand coming to rest against her forehead.

"You're awake," he said stupidly.

"How perceptive of you," she spoke to the bunk hanging above. "How do you suppose I'm to sleep with you banging around over there?"

"I-I'm sorry….I didn't mean—"sputtered Ron.

"Yes, you've said as much. Forgive me if I don't believe you any more now than I did an hour ago."

Despite his guilt, Ron felt his blood boil in a way only Hermione could provoke.

"I'm not sure what better way to say how I feel. I do know that I will keep apoligising 'til You-Know-Who is dead and buried, if I have to. I'm sorry," vowed Ron.

Hermione sat up so quickly, he thought she would smack her head on one of the beams of the bunk above hers.

"Stop! Stop saying that!" she growled through clenched teeth.

Ron set his tea down forcefully, spilling liquid everywhere and nearly breaking the handle off in the process.

"I _am_ sorry," he ground out forcefully, hoping the words weren't losing their meaning in his frustration.

She leapt from her bed, no longer caring if her plan of ignoring him for every day he had been absent was being so easily derailed. Standing before him, she opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for water before dissolving into tears.

Though thrown off balance by her unexpected weeping, Ron realized he now had another opportunity to get through to her. Closing the gap between them, he eased his quaking arms around her. To his great astonishment, she did not recoil in revulsion but fell into his chest. He murmured his apology like a mantra as he clung to her firmly.

"Why did you leave?" she whispered meekly into his shoulder, but she quickly gathered herself and pushed away from him, looking annoyed that she had let her guard down so recklessly. She was glaring at him now with that white-hot scorn that made his insides eat away at themselves. Her eyes blazed with challenge.

"The locket…" he began tentatively.

"That is not a reason, it is an _excuse_. You took the locket off before you left. You had plenty of time to come around," Hermione shot back, every word dripping with bitterness, like she had been preparing for this argument every night for the past few weeks.

"It didn't matter whether the damn thing was chained around my neck, or ten feet away…" Ron was grasping for the right words to make her understand…to make her forgive him.

"Right. Because you're the special exception? Harry's the one You-Know-Who is really after. Why wouldn't the locket consider him more of a threat?"

"I…I don't know—"

"Why don't you just admit that you _wanted_ to leave? Admit that you never wanted to come with us in the first place!" Hermione interjected with an irrational shout. She jabbed Ron in the chest accusingly with each claim, causing Ron to flinch.

His face fell, and he cast his head down in shame, his breathing becoming labored.

"I didn't want to leave, Hermione…"

She clucked her tongue in disgust, and turned away from him.

Something in Ron snapped.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? That I left because I don't care about you? Well, you're wrong! I love you so bloody much, I feel like getting sick practically every time you-you _exhale_ near me."

Ron and Hermione sucked in a breath in near tandem, but Ron forged on.

"A-And I know that's not exactly…romantic, blimey! But I don't know how I'm supposed to explain to you that I've fancied my best friend since I was twelve!"

Hermione still faced away from him, trembling visibly, her arms wrapped around herself as if for support. Ron began pacing around the tent in great strides, mussing up his hair as he made laps around the couch.

"You want to know why I left…why I'm such a…fucking daft sack of Dungbombs?

She shook her head rapidly, unable to form coherent sentences, but he went on anyway.

"One day, I fell asleep with that sodding locket around my neck, and…and it was like he was there. Like he could see right through me…except worse…like he could…_be_ me. And he plucked it all out of me…every fear, every failure, every regret—he grabbed hold of them. Then, he threw them back at me, one after the other, like giant mad bludgers."

Hermione couldn't help but smile inwardly at his impromptu reference to Quidditch. Only Ron could use a Wizard sport as a metaphor in a conversation like _this_…

"He didn't even really need to try. I was already afraid that so many of them were true. Afraid that I would never be the hero Harry was…I would never make my family proud...I would never be able to offer anything to… anybody," Ron said more soberly.

Hermione spun around on the spot, ready to protest.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she shouted at him, unable to say anything further.

"Oh, thanks for that. Exactly the words of comfort I was hoping to hear," Ron joked weakly.

She simply scowled back at him, the deep frown marring her face.

"By the time I had sussed out that I was completely useless, a new thought occurred to me. Everyone else believed those things, too…even the two people that mattered most. They didn't need me."

"You know that could never be true. We're a team. We always have been," she said urgently.

Ron looked at her thoughtfully. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started kicking at the ground. He wandered over to the bench and sat down. Hermione remained rooted to her spot, afraid he might stop talking at the drop of a pin.

"I suppose that was part of the problem, as well. I always knew that you were the brilliant one, and Harry was the…Merlin, Harry is meant to save the world. He's everything, isn't he?" Ron asked sadly. "Where's that supposed to leave me?"

Hermione took measured steps towards Ron, eventually landing right in front of him. In a bold move, he tugged on her hand, gesturing for her to sit beside him. She complied, grasping onto his fingers as he attempted to let go. His hand relaxed in hers. The act allowed him the courage to go on with his little discourse.

"When Harry asked me to destroy the locket, I was terrified, but, I figured…maybe I was meant to pull him out of the water. Maybe the sword meant for _me_ to find it, so I could send that bit of You-Know-Who's soul straight to the bloody gates of hell. Felt a bit like fate, showing up there right at that moment."

Ron's eyes went unfocused, staring out at something Hermione would never see.

"I lifted the sword…and that's when…" he paused, suddenly looking an unpleasant shade of grey.

"I _knew_ it fought back," exclaimed Hermione in a somewhat swotty tone.

"And you get offended when I call you a know-it-all," Ron replied after a while, teasingly.

Hermione had the grace to blush.

"What happened?" she probed.

"Will you promise…promise not to be upset?" he asked with caution, clearly troubled that her attack from earlier might resume provided his next words. Harry wouldn't be around to throw up a shield charm this time.

To his general astonishment, Hermione let out a broken little laugh.

"You honestly believe I can get any more upset than I am already?"

"I've learned it's best not to test you. Took ages for those bird bites to heal."

"Well, they were magic. What did you expect? You should consider yourself lucky I wasn't practicing Transfiguring Acromantulas," she said cheekily. She felt Ron shudder at the mere mention of spiders.

Hermione wondered with frustration why it was so easy for them to fall into this playful banter even when she was so dreadfully angry with him, although, that question only led to more frustration because she knew the answer. She loved him.

"I promise," she whispered finally.

He looked over at her, and she saw gratitude in his eyes, but there was also fear.

"It was you. You and Harry. Your voices. Your faces. In the locket," he said abruptly.

She blinked at him, perplexed.

"_Excuse me,_" indignation wrapped around her words. She snatched her hand away from his, and scooted away until she was balancing near the edge of the bench.

"Fucking hell, I knew you would react this way…" he mumbled under his breath, but apparently not quietly enough.

"What way did you expect me to react? You've obviously gone mad! You tell me that HARRY AND I managed to seep out of that-that _vile_ thing?" Hermione questioned huffily. "Is this like my voice coming out of the Deluminator?"

"No! Not at all…" he answered back miserably, contemplating whether he should just shut his trap before messing things up further.

"What, may I ask, were we doing in there? Taking a holiday?"

Her questions were asked in a skeptical, acerbic voice, one meant to injure.

"Forget it. You promised you wouldn't be angry, and obviously you are. Forget I said anything," Ron bit back, hastily accepting defeat.

Hermione made a strangled noise that could nearly pass for a laugh if not so imbued with resentment.

"Well, now at least we _both_ know the feeling! You should undoubtedly be familiar with breaking promises."

With that, she grabbed her blanket and stormed out into the darkness, relieving Harry from guard duty virtually three hours premature.

Harry entered the tent to find Ron cradling his head in his palms.

"What in Merlin's beard was that about…You know what, nevermind. I am blissfully unaware," said Harry, keen to not get wrapped up in another argument, especially one between his two ever-willful friends. He climbed into his bunk, facing away from Ron.

". the. world's. BIGGEST. prat," Ron punctuated with a groan.

Harry didn't bother to turn towards him, but spoke from underneath his blanket.

"Yeah, mate, I know. If I were you, I'd quit while I was ahead."

"Are you taking the piss out of me? How am I ahead?" asked an exasperated and more than frazzled Ron.

"At least she's speaking to you."

"Oh, bloody…I think I told her I loved her!" cried Ron, eyes turning big as Jupiter. He emitted another groan, and it was now Harry's turn to shoot up in bed. He actually did hit his head on the bars above.

"Yo-you, you what?" yelled Harry once he had recovered.

"I said I—"

"I heard you! I'm not exactly Lothario when it comes to these things, but bloke-to-bloke, I don't think that's the best way to ask for forgiveness at the present moment…"

"What's Lothario?" asked Ron, who was looking more and more confused by the second.

Harry ignored his question, opting to stare at him incredulously.

"I gather that didn't go as planned, then…" Harry gestured vaguely toward the flap.

"Not exactly. I also tried to tell her about the locket," confessed Ron queasily.

"And she told you how ridiculous the idea of us snogging is?" Harry said as a statement more than a question.

"I didn't really get that far…"

Ron averted his gaze. As far as he was concerned, he would be pleased if Harry never brought up what he had witnessed back by the lake again. Harry picked up on his discomfort and was suddenly feeling equally awkward.

Positioning himself back on his pillow, Harry lifted the covers to his chin.

"She'll come around, "he said with finality.

"Yeah…yeah," Ron spoke uncertainly. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ron, "responded Harry. "Oh, and Ron?"

"Yeah, mate?"

"I am glad you're back. I missed you…"

"Poof," Ron joked, a large grin plastered to his face despite the seriousness of the past few minutes.

"Tosser."

With a rude hand gesture and a similar smile gracing his features, Harry settled into sleep.

However, once in his bunk, Ron found it harder to accomplish any actual sleeping. Not only had he managed to bungle things up with Hermione worse than before, but he practically confessed his undying love for her. No, not practically—_actually_.

And she hadn't said it back.

'_Well, 'course she didn't. You all but said loving her makes you want to retch all over the place,'_ pondered Ron, glum once again.

He was back at the starting line; except he was more certain than ever that he had a good chance of coming in last place.

Ron rubbed at his face in a weary way that had nothing to do with being physically tired. He would just have to keep trying. Ron meant it when he said if he had to keep apologising 'til the end of the bleeding war, he would.

When it came to Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley was accustomed to waiting.

He was used to being in limbo.

A/N Part II: Many thanks to TMBlue, the beta darling that she is! I appreciate sharing stories and music with you whenever we can.


	2. In Hell

Companion songs:  
_In Circles-_Sunny Day Real Estate

http :/ / www . youtube . com/ watch?v=pimrdPq-J5E

& www. soundcloud . com/pipedreamin/land-of-talk-better-and-closer

_Better and Closer-_Land of Talk (from their album _Cloak&Cipher—which is so amazing that your music collection is seriously lacking if you don't buy it now)_

Chapter 2: In Love

They were surrounded by water.

Ron sputtered as ice cold waves slapped him in the face. His muscles seized, and he was struck with panic the second he realised that Hermione wasn't in his arms.

He had thought of the sea. His mind had been racing with the fear that Hermione's breathes had been so shallow. There had been so much blood. He could only think of the sea.

For the second time in months, Ron dove into freezing water, hoping he wasn't too late. By sheer luck, he had managed to maintain his grip on the wand Harry had thrown at him.

'_LUMOS!' _he thought madly.

He reached out desperately, eyes stinging from the salt, and nearly sighed with relief when he caught sight of her long, wavy hair. He was tugging at her the next instant, almost drowning himself in the process. He just needed to get them to the shore.

Ron stumbled as his legs finally kicked at pebbled sand. Every second that slipped by seemed too long. He struggled not to fall to his knees.

"Her-Hermione! Please. N-No, please." he stuttered out, teeth chattering from the cold and his throat raw from swallowing so much sea water. "BILL!"

She was so heavy in his arms, not moving, and looking—

Ron couldn't bring himself to think it. He continued shouting out his eldest brother's name, hoping he could break through the wind whipping loudly around them. The fence of their cottage was still over the dune. Could he make it? Would Hermione make it?

His knees buckled in his hesitation. He had to know that she was breathing.

Setting her down as gently as he could, Ron placed a dripping hand to her face and cradled her head. Hermione's eyelashes fluttered and her lips moved as she murmured something drowned out by the churning of the sea. Ron, frantic to see her clearly in the dark, leaned in until his long nose touched her petite one.

"You forgot…" Hermione croaked out slowly, her eyes focusing onto his.

Ron's eyebrows knit together in confusion. His thoughts immediately flashed to the Longbottoms. Had that bitch gone and done it again? Would Hermione suffer the same fate as Neville's parents?

Had she gone insane?

Hermione raised a shaky hand and rested it on his cheek.

"Destination…determination…deliberation…"

Hermione's lips curved into a frail smile, her eyes lighting up with something resembling mirth, though Ron was hard pressed to remember exactly what that felt like.

A raspy half-laugh, half-sob exploded out of Ron, and he pulled her into an eager embrace. He retracted instantly when he heard a little gasp of pain.

"Shit! Did I hurt you? Are you alright? Oh, that's a stupid question…Where does it hurt?" questioned Ron rapidly.

"I'll be fine," responded Hermione, despite the searing pain that seemed to come from every centimeter of her body. "Where are we?"

Just then, Bill and Fleur came bounding over the dune.

"Ron? Ron! Is that you?" Bill shouted down at them.

Ron could only ask for help and listen as Fleur whispered terribly beautiful little swears in her native tongue.

Fleur deftly ran her wand over Hermione's body, and insisted that they return to the house with a deep sense of concern carved into her usually polished features.

"Be careful wiz 'er arm, Bill!" Fleur cautioned as he and Ron hoisted Hermione into a standing position.

Nearly to the cottage, Ron was hit with a sudden realization.

"Harry!"

Ron came to a halt and wildly whipped his head around. He looked from Bill to Hermione, torn.

Hermione's dark eyes met with his hesitant gaze. She mouthed 'go', but he couldn't tear himself away. He couldn't leave her again.

Bill gently allowed Fleur to grab hold of Hermione, and the two women continued to make their way inside, Ron's eyes following them the entire time even as Bill spoke again.

"What is this, Ron? Where's Harry? Where have you _been_? You just DISAPPEAR on Christmas, and show up again like-like THIS?" he questioned briskly with a punitive concern, voice rising and falling as quickly as his chest.

"I-I can't tell you. I can only say we're together again. Or-or we were," said Ron, licking his lips nervously. "He was supposed to be right behind us, but I…I Apparated into the sea."

Fleur returned, followed by Luna and Dean.

"You should go inside, Ron. Hermione needs you right now," Luna said in her wispy timbre, touching him reassuringly on the arm. "We'll find Harry."

"I 'ave to agree with zis. You can carry 'er up ze stairs, oui?" Fleur spoke insistently, her

question entirely rhetorical. "You know where ze potions are stored. Use our _boudoir. _Bill and I do not mind."

Ron nodded dumbly and made for the door. Bill caught him by the crook of his arm.

"This conversation isn't over," he said firmly then softened. "Go to her."

Ron swallowed thickly before barreling through the threshold. He found Hermione with her head hiding in her hands, shoulders quaking. Her sobs were silent, sharp puffs of air escaping every odd second.

He felt like an intruder, and wished for a way to make himself invisible though he trembled with the urge to comfort her. The floor groaned beneath Ron as he shifted from one foot to the other.

Hermione wiped at her face hurriedly, as if hoping he hadn't noticed.

"Don't," he spoke simply as he finally approached her.

They shared one of what might be nearing a thousand silent conversations.

"Let me help you upstairs," he gently proposed.

Hermione only nodded and made to stand. Ron wanted nothing but to sweep her up again in his arms, but he knew better than that. She needed to show that she was still capable.

Leaning toward her, Ron offered an arm for balance. Hermione gratefully accepted it, and they made their sluggish march toward and up the narrow stairs. He led her into a room covered in white, from the walls to the delicate sheets pristinely made-up on the four-poster bed. He tried to nudge her delicately onto the mattress, but she resisted.

"Oh, I'll get the sheets full of blood!" she said in genuine distress, and Ron couldn't help but wonder again how one girl could be so mental. He opted to not put his foot in his mouth by vocalising his thoughts.

"Just lay down, alright? I need to make a run for potions. Bloody hell, what do I even get? I'll just bring everything, yeah? Yeah," Ron spoke more to himself than anything. Hermione sat on the edge of the mattress, watching him with an amused expression.

"You aren't going to tell me how mental I am, worrying about sheets at a time like this?" Hermione asked before he reached the door.

"Nah…I'm trying this new thing where I don't make an arse out of myself, particularly in front of you," said Ron, the ghost of a lop-sided smile on his face.

Hermione, caught off guard, simply blushed and prattled off a list of potions. As soon as Ron dashed out of the room, the pain suddenly came in a renewed, nauseating surge. Hermione took stock of her injuries, and flinched when she raised her right arm to feel where her skin was still freshly sliced at her neck.

Bellatrix's horrific screeching ricocheted in her brain. Hermione closed her eyes, and Ron's screams pushed their way through in a battle for control.

_Hermione!_

_Mudblood!_

_Hermione!_

_Mudblood!_

"NO!" she shouted under her breath. She felt intensely ashamed for a short time before coming to her senses. Hermione had little time to consider how deeply the Cruciatus curse may have affected her, as Ron's heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

"I brought everything I could carry."

Ron held a sagging towel in his arms, several more draped over his shoulders, and a blanket tucked under his armpit. A bucket floated shakily behind him with steaming liquid sloshing back and forth. The bottles clinked together as he laid them haphazardly across the end of the bed. He briefly met her eyes guiltily.

"I'm not very good at…you know, taking care of people. My healing skills are fairly crap, to be honest."

Thoughts of torture faded until they were a distant enemy. Hermione looked upon Ron with such tenderness that she thought she might be healed without potions if he could simply stay the way he was at this exact moment.

"You'll have to tell me what to do," Ron continued, oblivious to her gaze. "You're pretty good at that, so…"

He let his meager joke trail off while he attempted to sort through bottles. Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Could you help me take my coat off?" she asked, vulnerability lacing her words. "My arm…"

"Right. Of course," Ron approached her uncertainly, unsure of where to place his hands.

Hermione attempted to spare them both the anxiety by using her good arm to unfasten the buttons, but her hand shook too violently to get pass the top two.

Ron's eyes were focused on the red mark across her neck, the dried blood spattered in the hollow. He inhaled deeply, and eased himself to his knees. Without looking her in the eye, he worked at the rest of the buttons, the pounding of his heart echoing loudly in his ears.

Silently, they managed to tug her overcoat off, exposing a plethora of bruises. Hermione grunted through clenched teeth, pain and dizziness pulsing through her when Ron carefully lifted her other arm to pull her shirtsleeve up.

"Sorry, sorry! Should I get Fleur?" he asked worriedly.

"No!" Hermione cried back. "Please, stay."

"Hermione, I-I can't heal bones. I'll muck it up worse, like Lockhart did Harry after that Quidditch game."

"Please, Ron, we can set it until the others return," she pleaded.

"Alright," said Ron, knowing he couldn't refuse any requests she made from here out. "Here."

He placed one arm around her middle and the other beneath her knees, and then guided her against the pillows into a reclined position. In a peculiar act, Ron turned away from Hermione. It wasn't until she watched his belt slide out of the loops that she understood. She turned her head away unnecessarily, heat creeping up her neck.

"This ought to work for now, then," he spoke, offering two thick towels and his belt and coming to sit precariously on the edge of the mattress. He held up a large jar holding a thick paste and a vial of dark yellow liquid that Hermione recognized as Murtlap Essence.

"Fred and George's bruise removal paste," Ron explained, digging a healthy glob out with his fingers. He reached for her arm, but stopped short, and asked with concern, "Is this alright?"

Hermione nodded mutely.

He rubbed the yellow paste up and down Hermione's arm so delicately that she squashed down whatever discomfort might be registering with her body. As Ron dabbed Murtlap Essence over the petite cuts spattered around her neck, Hermione took the opportunity to look him fully in the face. His nose was badly bruised, and his lip split open, bits of blood caked on his chin.

The next thing Hermione saw were her fingers grazing his chin. Ron froze.

"Your mouth," she whispered.

"S'nothing. I'll have Bill fix it up later," Ron said through the seemingly permanent lump in his throat.

"Ron…" Hermione started.

A loud clamor sounded from below, and hurried voices filled the cottage. Ron retracted his hands.

"That'll be them," he said, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

As if on cue, Bill strode into the room with Fleur at his heels. Ron stood, and Hermione made to join him. Fleur rushed to the bedside, chiding her softly.

"You must rest now." Hermione ignored her request, though fatigue threatened to pull her back onto the soft pillows behind her.

"Harry? Is he okay? The others?" she asked in quick succession.

Bill and Fleur were silently exchanging some horrible truth.

"We'll need you in the garden, Ron," Bill said glumly. "It's the elf."

A gasp flew from Hermione's mouth, and Ron hurried over to the window to peer down at the garden below. In the barely breaking dawn, Ron could make out his friend's quaking body, standing over a motionless Dobby. The bloodstain across the elf's chest was a stark, sickening thing to look at. From the window, he watched Harry alternate between wiping at his face and digging with equal fervor. Ron had to turn away.

His eyes met with Hermione's dark, tired ones. She had quietly found her way to his side, and now her hand sought his out. Her gaze transferred to the window when their palms made contact.

"He's digging a grave," Hermione declared so painfully simply.

So much sadness was held in her words that Ron thought he might be sick. Her words affirmed the one thing he had been trying to push out of his mind: _death._

They all could have _died._

There would have been no more…anything. No more time, no more words, no more Hermione.

Ron tightened his grip on her, feeling entirely too much at once that the room might as well have been spinning.

"I need to go," he responded finally.

"I know," she said, tugging him nearer.

Ron turned his body into hers, and in an act that felt as natural as breathing, he leaned in to graze his lips across her cheek. There was only the hint of a blush across the bridge of her nose, and she looked up at him with a mixture of sincerity and curiosity.

Ron allowed his mind to briefly wander to a memory of her lips pressing to his own cheek from what seemed so long ago, a time when Quidditch was a legitimate source of anxiety.

It was that moment that allowed him to drop Hermione's warm hand and make his way to the bedroom door and down those stairs to his grieving friend.

The memory was a light in the dark, and Ron thought, if only he could keep all of their memories close to his heart, maybe they could find a way out of this hell.

A/N: Oh, it's true! I'm alive! I AM still writing. And you all don't need to hear about how strange and busy and awful my life can be sometimes, but that's true, too. So, here you have it. I do have one more chapter to this story! I seriously attempted to finish that chapter today, aaaaaand...well, it's 80% there, honestly. The dialogue practically wrote itself...the exposition-not so much.

You are all wonderful for leaving such lovely comments and adding me to your alerts. It's just so tender that I'm going to try my hardest to be more consistent. :) xx, maritera


	3. In Love

_You said ain't this just like the present to be showing up like this_

_As the moon waned to crescent, we started to kiss_

_That secret that we know, that we don't know how to tell_

_I'm in love with your honor_

_I'm in love with your cheek_

_What's that noise up the stairs, babe_

_Is that Christmas morning creep_

_And I know it well_

_-Blood Bank, _**Bon Iver**

* * *

Hermione had taken to sneaking after Ron the past few nights as he took meandering moonlit walks to nowhere. She didn't know why she hadn't revealed herself to him. Maybe because they had had so little time to themselves between planning the break-in, being harangued by Bill and fretted over by Fleur. She enjoyed simply watching him, and it almost seemed that it was all she could have without interruption.

Ron's path was even more aimless tonight. She was having a difficult time keeping up while maintaining enough distance. Hermione was grateful that he never looked back, or her cover would have been blown from the get-go. There was nothing out here but the sea, the sand, the stars, and the pair of them.

Ron came to a stop a few yards from the edge of an enormous sandbank. He had lingered here the past two nights, but not for this long. Hermione tugged at the collar of her borrowed housecoat self-consciously.

Had he heard her?

Her question was answered when Ron sprinted toward the edge, jumping off with no care, arms and legs flailing. Hermione barely had time to pick her jaw off of the ground before running madly after him.

"RON!"

Falling to her knees just at the edge, Hermione peered down, expecting to see an unconscious Ron lying somewhere at the bottom of the hill. Instead, she was greeted by the very same boy, shaking sand out of his ginger hair and grinning at her smugly.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh, you idiot! You knew I was following you this entire time!" Hermione groaned, two parts annoyed and embarrassed. "You could have broken a leg!"

"Oy! If you had made your presence known instead of skulking behind me, I wouldn't have had to resort to such daring methods," Ron joked, though it was lost on Hermione.

"I won't skulk, then," she sniffed. "I'll see you in the morning."

She rose quickly, brushing silt and bits of grass from her knees.

Ron scrambled up the dune, absently wondering what happened to his efforts to not be a complete buffoon around her.

"No! Wait!" he bellowed with urgency. "I didn't mean for you to go."

Ron caught her by the shoulder, and Hermione knew that was all he needed to do to make her stay.

"Sit with me?" he asked softly.

He allowed his thin fingers to slide down the underside of her arm to her palm.

Hermione's mind inexplicably travelled back to Bill and Fleur's wedding, when Ron had asked her to dance. Deep in her stomach, delightful, immodest things stirred, and Hermione had to remind herself that a war was still on.

A shiver ran through her, causing Ron to promptly take his overcoat off and throw it around her shoulders. Hermione sat quickly, mostly to duck her flushed face.

"Thank you," she mumbled as he sat down beside her.

He simply smiled back at her shyly, averting his eyes.

"What were you doing out here?" Hermione asked after several beats of silence.

"This is where I came to think over Christmas…" Ron trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

"Oh," Hermione responded curtly. She softened quickly, seeing his shoulders droop. "It is a breathtaking view."

"The view from the cottage is better," Ron replied awkwardly. "You can see everything from the steep side of the cliff. But, let's face it, I probably would have chucked myself off at that point, I was so miserable. I was starting to believe that I might never see you again…"

Ron wanted to stuff his fist into his own mouth.

'_Right about now seems like a SPLENDID time,' _he thought, mentally kicking himself for continuing to recall the single lowest moment of his young life.

Hermione stared at him again in that way that was both thoughtful and perplexed. She wistfully turned her head up to the sky to look intently at the moon. Ron cast surreptitious glances at her, wondering if the shine to her eyes was the result of tears or moonbeams.

She let out a watery laugh.

"What is it?" Ron questioned nervously.

"I was thinking…that we shared the same feeling…under the same moon," Hermione spoke in such a feeble way that he felt his heart twist unpleasantly.

Hermione ran the back of her hand hastily across her eyes, a futile attempt to stop any tears from escaping onto her cheeks.

Ron ached to show her any sort of gesture of comfort, but feared that she might retreat back to the cottage. After all, he realized, the present topic of conversation was how miserable he'd made the both of them by abandoning her in the woods.

Hermione startled him out of his doleful reverie by speaking again.

"It was so foolish of me to think that when you left, that might be the last time I would ever see you," Hermione said candidly, daring now to look him in the eye. "At least…the last time I would ever feel that pain…but I was wrong."

"You're never wrong," Ron tried, hoping to ease her hurt the only way he knew how, a poorly placed jest.

"I was, Ron. When they took you to the dungeon…"

"No, I can't talk a-about—Hermione, please," Ron begged. "I just want to sit here with you."

His eyes held an infinite world of apologies. Ron would have liked to be strong for her, like to have carried the burden of what they had been through, but the best he could do was hover near her.

And how unfair was that? She was the one that had been tortured.

Ron felt a keen pain of guilt.

"I'm sorry. I…If you want to talk about…I'm sorry," Ron groped around for the right words to say.

"I told you in the tent to stop saying that," Hermione insisted. "You saved my life, Ron."

Ron felt the same sick lurch in his stomach that he felt when he looked down at Dobby's small, lifeless body…the same ache when he looked into Hermione's wide, panicked eyes as he was dragged away from her in that bleak, hellish mansion.

What had he done for them?

"I saved you? Dobby saved you. He saved all of us. I _left_ you," Ron spat, anger at himself bubbling up unexpectedly. "How can you even think about forgiving me?"

"I understand now. I think I even understood then. The locket—"Hermione spoke, sympathy lacing every word.

"No, you _don't _understand," Ron grumbled, not entirely sure why he was arguing with her when she was offering him everything he had been wanting.

"TELL ME, THEN!" Hermione suddenly exploded with frustration.

Ron quaked, becoming overwhelmed with their situation and the memory all at once.

He stood abruptly, and began striding back and forth in front of her.

For several minutes, Hermione did not disturb him, hoping he would only need time to gather the courage. However, when Ron turned to stare out into the sea, hanging his head in apparent defeat, she stood to join him. Hermione placed a hand cautiously at the center of Ron's back.

"Whatever that terrible thing said, it isn't true, Ron," she murmured soothingly. "I know you. I know your heart. And you never would have left if—"

Ron's back tensed at her words, and he could no longer hear what she was saying, as his ears filled with the wicked, ghastly voice of Tom Riddle and his gruesome impersonations of his best mate and the girl he loved.

"I have seen your heart…and it is mine. I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears_," _Ron spoke in a haunting echo. "Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter…Least loved by the girl who prefers your friend. Second best, always…We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice…Who are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived? You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him…"

"Ron, what are you…"she tried interjecting, but Ron forged on, tears in his eyes.

He began to shout now in his own panicked voice.

"Then you snogged him! He had his bleeding hands all over you. And I know they weren't…I know that it was all in my head…and I try to tell myself it's bollocks, but I can't get the thought of it out of my mind!" Ron roared hysterically.

Horror crept over Hermione's features as she pieced together their previous argument in the tent and Ron's cryptic soliloquy.

Ron walked away from her again, trying to suppress the tears building steadily in his eyes.

"Harry is…Harry has _always_ been the best brother I could have ever asked for, but _never_ anything more," Hermione ground out through her own tears. "As for those other things…you are so much more than…you must know that you aren't…_nothing_. Th-that none of us think that."

Hermione was having difficulty expressing just how wrong he was, as she was hit all at once with every endearing and admirable quality Ron possessed. Even his maddening traits…they all assembled to make this boy—this _man_—that she was so wholly in love with.

Hermione forced him to face her. If she couldn't say what she felt, maybe he could see it in her expression. This madness needed to end tonight.

Snogging Harry? Honestly?

Ron, however, would not make eye contact, and retreated several steps.

"Do you know what that was like? Hearing the person that I…hearing you tell me that I'm nothing?" Ron asked with a margin of distress left in his tired voice.

"I didn't, I didn't know th-that my opinion meant that much to you," Hermione stammered, gradually closing the small gap left between them and causing him to finally look her in the eye.

"You mean _everything_ to me," said Ron, quite seriously, no longer caring that his eyes were wet.

"I-I do?"

He exhaled noisily, expelling a breath he was certain he had been holding in throughout the entire ordeal. Looking into Hermione's eyes, shining with amazement and perhaps admiration, something terrible finally released Ron.

He could feel the new absence of the weight he had been carrying in his heart since he had Apparated away from her all those nights ago.

Maybe it was a weight he'd been carrying much longer than that.

He didn't care anymore. Fuck it all, he'd already told her he _loved_ her.

He offered the smallest of smirks at that.

"Always the tone of—"

She suddenly cut Ron off by throwing her body into his and pressing her lips to his resolutely.

_Surprise._

Their teeth knocked together in the rush, but it barely registered with either of them. All that mattered was this…this feeling. Their lips lay against each other languorously, as if forgetting they had any other function but this.

Then, it was over.

Then again, if they were finally being honest with themselves, it would never be over.

Ron brought his hand up to his mouth, as if trying to capture the kiss in his grasp. He rested his lips in the soft spot between his thumb and index finger, and this time a true smile did form.

He always thought that _if_ they were to ever kiss, it would be all red faces and shy smiles, perhaps a bit awkward.

But, this…considering the gravity of their situation, Ron realized perhaps there wasn't time for trepidation any longer.

He gazed down at her, eyes still glazed over with tears, now joined by astonishment.

"_That_ just happened," he stated factually.

"It did," Hermione said through an endless smile.

"I'm sorry, but do you think we could try that once more? I'm not quite sure I caught it the first time," Ron blathered out quickly as he pushed towards her.

He listened as the most pleasant laughter floated between them before he kissed her again.

If someone would have asked him ten minutes or twenty years from this moment, what it had been like _kissing Hermione Granger, _Ron wouldn't have known how to answer with anything more than a gratified grin. Because in this moment, he knew he wouldn't remember the texture of her lips, or where he finally decided to place his fumbling hands; he would only remember how boundlessly happy he felt.

Like he could just…_die_.

And there it was again. That word. Death.

Yet, now, fear was not its unruly companion. Everything belonged to Hermione now. Ron felt like he could endure anything, even death. But, God, how he hoped this would last forever.

They parted again, and Ron made short order of gathering her hands into his.

"I think," Hermione started, "that we can do that several more times if you like."

"I would like that very much," he responded instantly. "You?"

"Very much," she whispered.

Their eyes danced around one another's faces, and Ron felt himself falling towards her again. Or maybe she was falling towards him? Those were details that didn't matter just now, because he was centimeters away from blinding happiness again.

Hermione chose this instant to pull away.

Ron's ears burned.

"Did you want to stop?" Ron asked, afraid of the answer for some reason. Did it even make sense to be filled with nerves and apprehension anymore? He'd already told her…everything.

Ron swallowed heavily again.

"Just one more thing and we can resume our…activities," Hermione raised a spirited eyebrow, despite her obvious bashfulness at being so uninhibited.

Ron released a thankful chuckle.

"Anything," he said, finding himself meaning it.

"You remember…when you said that thing…about fancying your best mate?" Hermione asked sincerely.

"Uh…yeah, yes," Ron croaked, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He recalled using a much stronger sentiment.

"I think if this relationship is ever going to move forward, we really should address whatever feelings you may have for Harry." Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

Ron stared at her, stunned to silence, his lips pursing in confusion or mild disgust.

"Well, I….uhm. See, what I meant by that. You see, you misunderstood…" he blabbered semi-incoherently, kicking at the sand.

While Ron tripped awkwardly over his words, laughter built inside of Hermione, and it was half out of pity that she let it burst out of her.

Ron's head snapped up at the sound, and a half-smile formed on his worn face. Soon, Hermione was on the ground again, doubled over, tears streaming down her face in glee.

"Aren't you just full of jokes…who knew you had a sense of humour? I thought I was the funny one," Ron huffed in mock irritation.

"I figure I oughtn't start giving you reasons to believe that I am not absolutely perfect at _everything _I do," she joked half self-consciously, still flustered by the apparent pedestal he had been holding her atop all of these years.

"Ah, well, nothing could change that," Ron said, causing Hermione's cheeks to return to a lovely pink. He clumsily plopped down next to her.

"So, a-a relationship, yeah?" Ron stuttered out his question, finding it much more difficult to speak about these things when not under pressure.

Hermione's blush deepened.

"If…if you're ready, that is," she said, suddenly shy again. "Of course, we should keep the matter private for the time being."

She might have missed Ron's face falling if she hadn't been searching for a reaction so earnestly. Hermione rushed to speak again.

"Oh! Only because of the war…and-and Harry. I could tell sometimes...he would get this look in his eyes when he saw us together. Like he—"she couldn't adequately find the words to articulate the feeling quickly enough.

"Like it hurt too much to watch us," Ron offered.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he feels—"

"No, I know…now. I used to think it was because he fancied you, but after I came back, I realised he was thinking about my sister. It hurt too much because he missed her, and I _definitely _understood that."

"And I thought I was the perceptive one," Hermione retorted, looking more amused than stunned.

"Well, I figure," Ron started, adopting a posh accent that sounded remarkably like Hermione, "I oughtn't give you any reason to think I'm not the most sensitive bloke in the world. Who's got the emotional range of a teaspoon now? I'd say I've at least moved up to a dessert spoon…perhaps a tablespoon."

Hermione made to swat at him.

"I can't believe you remember that!" she exclaimed. "And I do _not_ talk like that."

"Yes, yes you do. That is exactly the way I hear you in my head. _Honestly, Ron, it was in the third paragraph on the eightieth page of Hogwarts: A History,_" he teased through a gleeful snicker.

"Oh! Come off it! I've never cited page numbers!" Hermione shouted in offense.

"You could recite Arithmancy equations all day if you wanted to. I love listening to you talk," Ron said absent-mindedly, not quite realizing he was speaking aloud.

Before he knew it, his back was hitting the sand, and his mind was turning to liquid as Hermione's mouth moved over his own. Ron would definitely remember the way this kiss felt. He rolled until he hovered above her, breathing labored and patchy.

"Fucking hell…" Ron coloured, wishing something more eloquent had spilled out of his mouth.

To his delight (and surprise), Hermione let out another feminine giggle. Her fingers played with the fine hairs at the back of his neck, sending shocks of desire down his spine.

"If you do that again, I might just hurry on back to the cottage and wake everyone to tell them the good news," Ron threatened lightly.

"That you finally snogged me?" she asked playfully.

"_Finally?"_ Ron exclaimed.

Hermione raised both eyebrows, challenging him to refute her.

"Yeah, actually, you've got that right. It was about time."

They spent the next fleeting moments grinning foolishly at each other, blocking out the cruel world they had been trapped in by indulging in the simplicity of being together.

Ron was the first to break the wonderful silence.

"You're my best friend, as well. You know that, yeah?" Ron questioned as he pushed a mass of wavy hair away from Hermione's face.

Hermione sighed contentedly, and touched her forehead to the hollow place at the bottom of his neck.

"I love you," she said as way of an answer.

He felt the smile form on his neck before he saw it.

And he knew that tonight his mind would not be occupied with dreadful visions of inadequacy or vicious torture. He also knew that he didn't need to hold onto a memory, or hope for a distant future.

Because Ronald Weasley was no longer in limbo…he was in love.

**A/N: It's finished! With much help from my lovely friend, TMBlue. Thank you for helping me follow through with my first EVER completed fic. Thank you to everyone who read and commented. It's a really gratifying feeling to get positive feedback on something I use as an outlet for creativity and frustration...and, well, you know. I don't want to get too sentimental! (I did enough of that writing this chapter, listening to Bon Iver albums on repeat.) Hope everyone enjoys it! xo maritera**


End file.
